


The Stage Just For You

by CarnivalMirai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ballet Dancer Will Graham, Blow Jobs, Choreographer Hannibal Lecter, Deepthroating, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Teacher-Student Relationship, Touching, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnivalMirai/pseuds/CarnivalMirai
Summary: Will’s hard work reaps rewards when at the ripe age of twenty two, he lands the role of Odette. Yes, that Odette. It’s the most exciting moment of his entire career, especially when he finds out it’s choreographed by one Hannibal Lecter. The very one who became the youngest principal dancer in the world at twenty, and held that title right up until he retired.Or: Will has landed himself the role of Odette for world-famous choreographer Hannibal Lecter's rendition of The Swan Lake.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 241





	The Stage Just For You

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this thread](https://twitter.com/Defoni/status/1295130171348000777?s=20) which was inspired by my tweet!

Will drops everything to dance when he turns eighteen. He moves halfway across the world from a small Louisiana town to the bright city of Paris to join the Paris Opera Ballet. And it’s the _best_ decision he’s ever made. He’s exceptional, graceful, _gorgeous._ Will’s lithe form moves like water. He’s light in his toes, elegant with his limbs. Will is a powerful dancer, and he knows it. 

He works up the ranks, proving his worth over and over and _over,_ and that never stops. Every season he fights his way up higher. He has dreams. Dreams bigger than he could never even fathom just a few years ago. That top spot on the centre stage at the _Palais Garnier…_ that’s going to be _his._ Will is going to be the dancer on the promotional posters. The dancer who works well into the night. The dancer who breaks through pointe shoes like no other. 

He has dreams worth more than the pointe shoes, worth more than the hours he spends at the studio, worth more than the bruised feet and aching limbs. 

Will’s hard work reaps rewards when at the ripe age of twenty two, he lands the role of _Odette._ Yes, _that_ Odette. It’s the most exciting moment of his entire career, especially when he finds out it’s choreographed by one _Hannibal Lecter._ The very one who became the youngest principal dancer in the world at twenty, and held that title right up until he retired. 

Will has looked up to this man for as long as he can remember. He’s followed him for almost fifteen years, and now that very same man is going to be _here,_ guiding them through this ballet, and most importantly, coaching _Will._ To say he’s nervous is an understatement— he’s never felt the need to be so prepared for anything. 

So here he is, at nine p.m, occupying a free studio to make sure he’s in top form to meet Hannibal tomorrow. 

He curves in all the right places, his body the perfect hourglass figure. His arms extend, exposing his waist, slender and shapely as he moves gracefully across the studio floor, pointe shoes thumping on hard wood with every turn. Will should go home and rest-- Madame DuPont has a studio booked for him to meet Hannibal bright and early tomorrow. 

Will has no idea who the other roles are yet. He doesn’t know who his partner is, he doesn’t know who will be playing Prince Siegfried, he doesn’t know who the other swans are. All he knows is _he_ is Odette. And that’s all he cares for. 

***

Hannibal Lecter. World-renowned choreographer and former principal dancer. Retirement had come around a decade ago, at the ripe age of thirty five, preferring to revolutionise classic ballets and set the bar higher for dancers to reach. More leaps, more turns, more spins, more grace. Naturally, it didn’t take him long to build a name for himself in choreography. Ballet companies from Moscow to New York to London are after rights to perform his work. 

Currently, he’s enroute to Paris, to the famous Paris Opera Ballet, where one lucky dancer in particular awaits his arrival, having been chosen to portray the Swan herself. 

Hannibal has high expectations for every dancer recreating his renditions of classical ballets, hence, he only grants permission to perform his choreographies to top ballet companies. So whoever the director has chosen to play Odette… Hannibal is going to be very critical of them. 

He has plans to focus most of his work on training Odette. She’s the centerpiece, the one people pay hundreds of euros to see. Therefore, she has to have the most attention. There is, of course, time dedicated to the Prince, and their _pas de deux,_ but Hannibal intends to spend most of his time training Odette. 

Hannibal has a bar set for these dancers that he expects to be reached and surpassed. He doesn’t care who these dancers are, or what they can and can’t do, or how good they are in comparison to each other. If they are not good enough for him, they get dropped. 

———————————————————————

Will feels sick to his stomach when he wakes up the next morning. He’s meeting with one of the world's most famous choreographers, the world's most well respected former danseurs. 

Hannibal Lecter is stern, he hears. He’s well known for being strict, relentless with his training techniques. He’d push dancers right to the very edge, he’d push them as hard as he could, mould them into the perfect dancer. Will knows what is on the line. If he can’t be moulded into a dancer that Hannibal sees fit to fill the center stage, Madame DuPont would find someone to replace him. 

Ballet is not a welcoming, nor an easy-going career, physical barriers aside. It’s competitive. It was cut-throat. And if dancers aren’t good enough, they get replaced. Dancers, for the most part, are disposable. It’s like a ladder. If dancers can’t keep up, they get kicked off the ladder. Will not only wants to stay on the ladder, he wants to make it to the top. He is not a disposable, replaceable dancer. 

Will arrives at the studio half an hour before Hannibal is due to arrive, giving him time to warm up and go over the choreography notes. He breaks into a new pair of pointe shoes, darning the block and sewing the ribbons. He prefers a stiffer sole, so he stands on the sole of the pointe until it cracks once, before sliding his foot in and tying the ribbons. 

New pointes are always a pain in the ass, but a necessary pain. He stands up, rests one leg on the barre in front of the mirror and stretches. 

Will tries to calm himself down, the nerves rising in his chest more and more as the clock ticks. Hannibal should be here soon. He’ll see the man, the myth, the legend for himself. 

As Will warms up, he hears the studio door open. Instantly, he stiffens, his head whipping around to the door to see— 

_Oh, god._

Hannibal stands tall, his shoulders broad and body lean. His hair is swept back, eyes dark, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. And for a forty _-_ five year old man, he sure looks _fucking good._ Will swallows thickly as Hannibal comes into the studio. 

*** 

Hannibal approaches the door to the studio at eight a.m sharp to see a dancer already in the studio. Odette, he presumes. Through the window Hannibal can just about make up slim limbs and a lithe form— already, he can tell this dancer is perfect as Odette. 

He pushes open the door and— 

_Oh._ Madame DuPont has chosen a male dancer. Not that Hannibal minds, it’s just not traditional. Either way he doesn’t care if the dancer can meet his expectations. The dancer is staring right back at him, dark blue eyes piercing through him, and Hannibal has to admit… he’s rather attractive. Madame DuPont has chosen wisely in that sense. 

The dancer is donned in a cropped hoodie and a pair of black leggings, accentuating his long legs. His whole form is lean and dainty, from his soft brown curls to the pink pointes in his feet. Hannibal is already drawn to him. 

“Odette?” The dancer stiffly nods, removing his leg from the barre. 

“Yes, sir.” Hannibal comes forward and holds out his hand for Will to take and Will swears he has a heart attack right then, right there. His hand is warm and his grip is firm, and Will feels a shiver of anxiousness crawl up his spine.

“Hannibal Lecter.” Will takes note of his thick, European accent. He doesn’t sound French… it’s rather soft. His first guess is Russian, but again, his accent seems too soft for Russian, and his surname also does not sound Russian.

“Will. Will Graham.” Hannibal doesn’t expect the American accent. It’s rare that Paris Opera Ballet accepts dancers from abroad, without any connections. Then again, that’s being presumptuous. It’s very likely Will does have connections in Paris. He doesn’t ponder too long, he doesn’t care. As long as the dancer can meet his expectations. 

“I expect, as Odette, for you to meet my standards and surpass them.” Hannibal says firmly. “I expect you to be punctual, and well prepared, but out of practice I expect you to be well nourished and in good health.” Hannibal warns as he stares the dancer up and down.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. We will start immediately. There is a lot of work to be done.” 

***

The first session is gruelling. An hour in and Hannibal already has worked Will right to the bone. 

“Higher, Will!” Hannibal calls as Will’s leg extends even higher with Hannibal’s instructions. He turns, sweat dripping down his face as he keeps moving, pointes tapping loudly on the floor. “Raise your chest more, expose yourself to the audience. You are the centerpiece, act like it.” Hannibal’s tone is laced with venom, but Will obeys, raising his chest and pushing his shoulders back as he moves across the room. 

Hannibal’s thick accent sends shivers down Will’s spine, rumbling in his ear. Occasionally, Hannibal comes over and plants his large hands on his body to readjust his form. His hands are so soft, his grip firm and certain as he lifts Will’s chin and extends his arms out. 

Will lets out a shuddery breath every time Hannibal comes up behind him and touches him, a soft murmur of _‘just like that,’_ falling from Hannibal’s lips in a husky, low voice. 

He can feel Hannibal’s soft hair brush the nape of his neck, can smell his expensive cologne every time he leans in. It makes Will’s knees weak. Hannibal is so much bigger in form than he is too, his whole body enveloping Will every time he comes up behind him. 

Hannibal steps back, out of Will’s personal space, and Will can’t help but miss that warmth behind him. 

“From the top—“ Will takes his starting position. “One and two and three and four…” 

***

Will is panting so harshly after his first session with Hannibal. He knew it would be hard work, and he expected to come out feeling completely and utterly wrecked, but this is a whole different feeling. His shins ache, his feet bleed, his abdominals sting, but god, does he feel good about it. 

It’s only been one session— they haven’t even scratched the surface of the dances Will needs to know. In fact, they’ve barely scratched the surface of the first of Odette’s dances. 

He’s absolutely shattered. Will takes a quick shower, giving his muscles some relief before he goes for a lunch break.

Later that evening, he has the studio to himself once again. Will takes the opportunity to go over what Hannibal went over with him today— the way Hannibal wants Will to present himself is much different to the way he normally would present himself. 

Hannibal expects more power. More grace. More confidence than Madam DuPont has ever required from him. Then again, Will has never been the centerpiece. The most powerful, most versatile centerpiece. The queen on a chessboard. Odette is the Swan Princess, after all. 

So that’s what he works on. 

He spends hours in the studio, practicing poses and extensions and turns, looking at himself in the mirror as he takes note of all his curves. Will stands en pointe, one leg limbs beautifully extended, head tipped back. 

At that moment, Hannibal walks past the open studio door to see a dancer— Will. Admittedly, he’s somewhat surprised to see Will in the studio. Most dancers are rendered exhausted and done for the day by the time Hannibal is done training them for the day. But Will isn’t. Will seems just as enthusiastic, just as energetic, just as hard working. 

Curious, he stands by the door and watches, leaning against the frame with his arms folded over his chest. 

Will’s form is beautiful, to put it simply. He’s elegant, hard working, and Hannibal wonders if he can push him even further. Will in enchanting with the way he dances, bound to captivate the audience with his dancing. Hannibal also wonders how much more of that enchantment he can bring out in the dancer.

He spots Will’s form, not quite perfect. Silently, Hannibal slips into the room, unbeknownst to the younger man. He comes up behind him and gently grasps his arm, repositioning it and adjusting the bend in his elbow. 

Will quickly freezes at the feel of hands on his arms. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal, much to his surprise, but he quickly relaxes again into his hold, allowing Hannibal to readjust his form.

“Your arm is too straight,” Hannibal says from behind him, voice smooth and silky in his ear. “Try again.” Will wordlessly nods and goes back to the beginning of the part. 

Hannibal hadn’t expected another impromptu training session with Will today, but Will seems eager to learn more, to practice more, and that’s the sort of mentality Hannibal finds most admirable. 

This dancer is particularly pretty. He’s exquisite, like no one Hannibal has ever worked with before, and if Hannibal wasn’t already intrigued by Will before, he sure is now. 

“Good.” Hannibal murmurs, and Will reckons that’s the closest he’ll get to praise— so he takes it. “You learn quickly.” Hannibal says observantly. “It often takes dancers many more sessions to get used to my style of teaching yet, here you are, having adapted after only a session.” Hannibal continues as he watches Will grace the hardwood floor, staring proudly at his reflection in the mirror. 

“Thank you, sir.” Will smiles, a little taken aback that he just got two compliments in the same breath. 

Hannibal continues to watch as Will dances, coming over often to correct his posture, and Will moulds to the advice well. They take the opportunity to work through the next part of the dance, and Will insists on working well past the time he has the studio booked for— luckily for him no one else is booked for the evening. 

Sweat trickles down Will’s face. His toes are bruised and his feet ache, but he works through the pain and keeps going. Even in pain, Hannibal notices that Will’s steps do not falter, not one bit. He can see the burning determination in this man’s eyes when they meet in the mirror, and Will has a flame Hannibal has never seen before. 

They dance until Hannibal insists that Will stops for the night. Will’s chest heaves as he battles for lungfuls of air, gulping down half a bottle of water in one go. 

“Tomorrow we’ll work through the next section.” Hannibal says as Will unites his shoes, tossing them in the bin. His toes are black and blue, Hannibal notices, the nails chipped and toes plastered together as scars old and new mark his skin. He knows how that feels— it’s what many dancers would consider their greatest insecurity. “For now, go home and rest well. I expect you back in the studio tomorrow at eight thirty.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tiredly, Will picks up his things. “Have a good evening, sir.” 

———————————————————————

This repeats for months. Sometimes Will has sessions with a colleague— _Prince Siegfried,_ but the majority of his training sessions are alone with Hannibal. 

He’s quickly grown comfortable with Hannibal’s guidance— it was a little intimidating at first, but now it feels like second nature to have Hannibal’s hands on him, repositioning him and correcting his form. 

“From the top.” Will sucks in a few deep breaths and nods, gulping down some water before he takes his starting pose. 

Partway through, Hannibal comes up behind Will and grasps his waist, stopping him as he moves to his arms to adjust them. Will’s breath catches in his throat as Hannibal’s soft hair brushes his face. He wonders how it would feel, tangled between his fingers. He wonders if Hannibal would nuzzle back against his hand into the palm of his hand. 

They catch eye contact in the mirror, and Hannibal’s piercing eyes and high cheekbones are the only thing Will can think about as he subtly leans into Hannibal’s hold. 

“What did I say, Will?” Hannibal purrs in his ear, breath brushing the shell of his ear as Will catches the faintest whiff of his cologne. “Your elbows are not relaxed enough.” Hannibal says. His touch burns on Will’s skin as tender fingers wrap around his elbow and Will quickly becomes pliant under his hands, allowing Hannibal to move him as he pleases. 

“You’re the Swan Princess.” He reminds. “You are charming and poised, dainty and elegant. Therefore you must look and act like it.” Hannibal’s touch lingers on Will’s smooth skin, taking note of how lustrous and silky it feels under the rough pads of his fingers. His thumb brushes over the bone of his elbow before he withdraws. 

Will almost struggles to breathe with Hannibal’s ever-present touch, his limbs quivering under his large hands as they roam up and down his arms. God, his touch is so warm, so comforting, and when it’s coupled with the way Hannibal’s breath brushes his neck and the way his scent envelopes Will it has his limbs weak, toes struggling to hold his weight until Hannibal lets him go. 

“Let’s go through that part again.” 

*** 

When they finish, Will removes his pointe shoes to find his nails cracked and feet bleeding, crimson staining the pink satin fabric. With a heavy sigh, Will pulls out a first aid kit. This is normal, no matter how much he despises the gruesome part of dance. He pulls out an antiseptic wipe and cleans his wounds before pulling out some plasters. 

He unpackages a plaster and wraps it around his toes, hissing at the pain. From a few feet away he hears Hannibal sigh, then there’s footsteps. 

“Don’t wrap them like that.” Hannibal murmurs, kneeling down on one knee to take the plaster from Will’s hands, balancing Will’s foot on his knee. “You have to wrap it in such a way that keeps your toes together and supports them, not just seals the wound.” He wraps the plaster around Will’s toes, fingers delicate as he wraps it tightly. He picks up a roll of medical tape and pulls it taut around his toes too. 

Will’s face is flustered as he holds his breath, trying his best not to let out a shuddery sigh at the touch of Hannibal’s hands— again, this time, on his feet. His fingers grip the bench, eyes gazing right at Hannibal as he secures his toes together. God, this is so embarrassing, yet… Will can’t help but enjoy it. Hannibal’s tender touches might just be his undoing. 

“Anymore?” Hannibal asks. Silently, Will gestures to his other foot, which Hannibal carefully tends to in the same way. 

“Thank you, sir.” Will croaks, letting out a trembling breath. 

“Be careful of how you bandage these injuries.” Hannibal warns. “You’ll cause yourself a whole deal of pain by wrapping them incorrectly.” His hand holds Will’s foot before slowly lowering it back to the ground. 

“Y-yes, sir.” 

Hannibal’s lip quirks up into a soft smile as he stands back up. Will is beautiful, objectively. There’s no denying it. And he has his whole heart in ballet. His fingers had once graced the soft curls on Will’s head, and Hannibal has found that since then, he cannot stop thinking about how his fingers would feel through those locks. How silky his hair would feel, how thick it would be, Hannibal is intrigued.

Will also has the brightest blue eyes Hannibal has ever seen. They sparkle with desire, with dedication and perseverance, and ever since Hannibal met him, he knew instantly that Will was full of dreams that needed to be met. From that moment on, Hannibal too, became determined to help him meet them. 

He stands back up, facing Will. His eyes rake up and down the dancer, admiring his soft face and slim form. His hand reaches up to just card through the locks on the side of his face, pushing them behind his ear. 

“See you tomorrow, Will.” Will almost chokes on a breath when Hannibal touches his hair, but almost as quickly as his hand is there, it’s gone again. He can feel his heart racing as Hannibal turns away and leaves, leaving young Will standing stock still in front of the mirror, still processing what just happened. 

***

That evening Will finds himself replaying every single one of Hannibal’s touches, from his waist, to his arms, down to his bloodied and bruised feet. Even Will finds his own feet rather… unsightly. Unpleasant. Yet Hannibal had no problem tending to his wounds and injuries. 

Will has found recently that he cannot stop thinking about Hannibal. The way his hair brushes against his neck, the way he smells, the way he holds Will so gently. It doesn’t help that he’s fucking _gorgeous,_ too. And then that touch after today, that brush of his fingers through his hair, Will cannot even fathom Hannibal being so… _tactile._ But he has absolutely no complaints about it. 

Now that he’s had a taste, however, Will wants Hannibal to touch him more. He wants those hands to run up and down his body, touches dainty and careful as he drags his fingertips from his neck right down his chest. 

Oh god. These thoughts are going in exactly the wrong way. 

He shoves his hand down his pyjama bottoms and into his underwear, grasping his cock. The thought of Hannibal’s lips, his hands on his body sends sparks of electricity up his spine. He wonders how plush those lips are, how gentle Hannibal would be as he presses kisses from Will’s neck, chaste, butterfly kisses working their way down his body. 

Will bites his lip and moans, the tip of his cock already wet as he swipes his thumb over the tip. “H-Hannibal…” he breathlessly whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as his thighs spread on their own, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines Hannibal’s mouth between his thighs, that stubble brushing the sensitive skin on his inner thighs. God, that very thought sends another lick of heat through Will’s body as his cock twitches in his hand, precome leaking profusely from the tip of his cock. 

All he can think about is Hannibal’s lips. His mouth all over him, his tongue on his cock, _god,_ he can’t believe he’s having such lustful thoughts about Hannibal. “Ah, oh, god… H-Hannibal…” he hiccups, squeezing his cock as he imagines the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth around him. 

Every part of Hannibal’s body fascinates him too. From the way he towers over Will, to the way his muscles protrude through the skin-tight sports wear. Hannibal is so much broader than Will, and he finds it comforting… and also _arousing._ If the rest of him is so well formed, Will wonders what else is well formed too. 

Will moans again, loud and unabashed at the thought of Hannibal’s cock. He envisions a thick girth, reaching at least to his navel. He wonders how it tastes… how he smells… Will almost comes right then, right there at the thought of Hannibal in his mouth. 

He whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his fist tightened around his wet cock, palm smooth as he strokes long and slow, indulging in his fantasy. 

Will comes harder than he ever has that night. It’s euphoric, cathartic, but _god,_ does he feel guilty about it. 

———————————————————————

The sexual tension only increases as the weeks go by. Hannibal spends weeks forming Will into the epitome of grace and perfection, of seduction and charm. It’s almost as if Hannibal is moulding Will into two different dancers— Odette, and Odile. Will has developed his expression so much through Hannibal’s training, and even with his own personal sprinkle, anyone can tell the mastermind that is Hannibal Lecter seeping through these personalities. 

One day in particular, the sexual tension is through the roof, and Hannibal can feel it, if the way Will passes him fleeting glances and leans into his touch and relaxes in his arms is any indication. 

He’s been quiet, too, less responsive to Hannibal’s instructions. He still follows every instruction to the T, but the verbal affirmation that Will understands his instructions simmers down. 

This goes on through the whole of Will a first session, and even bleeds into the free studio time he has booked during the evening, that Hannibal often accompanies him to. 

Hannibal, however, pushes the observations of Will’s strange behaviour to the back of his mind. He cannot help but wonder what is going through the dancer’s mind, because it certainly is not ballet. Now, Will’s power has not faltered, even though ballet does not seem to be at the forefront of his mind. But Hannibal just knows he has something else on his mind, and Hannibal thinks he knows what it might be, too. 

It’s only later in the session when he knows for certain why Will has been so tense today. 

They’re practicing Will’s aerial position with the _grand jété._ Will may be an amazing dancer, but there are some elements even he has not mastered yet. And this is one of them. 

“Your air position is awful.” Hannibal murmurs, brow creased when they first try the _grand jété,_ which Hannibal carries him through. “But it’s not as difficult a fix as it sounds like it will be.” Will lets out a sigh of relief at that, biting the inside of his cheek in anticipation. “I’ll take you through the jump, we’ll correct your air position.” Hannibal says as Will demonstrates the leap for him. “But first go again for me, from the top part of the choreography.” Will obeys. 

_“Sauté, step, glissade, grand jété.”_ Hannibal watches, pleased by Will’s steps. “Your back needs to be a little more arched. Face the audience.” Hannibal says. “You are too rigid, not relaxed enough.” Hannibal steps forward and comes up behind Will. He grasps his hand and wraps the other around his waist. 

_“Sauté, step, glissade, grand jété.”_ Hannibal guides him through the sequence, the hand on Will’s waist encouraging him to relax more. “Make sure your arms aren’t too straight.” Hannibal reminds him. “Remember, Will. Gracefulness is everything to the Swan.” Will nods. “Let’s practice that again.” 

So Hannibal carries him through another sequence. 

And another. 

And another.

Until his touch on Will’s body begins to burn too much. The air between them is hot— at least to Will— and he can feel Hannibal’s body heat against his. And the next time they land, Will immediately turns his head to catch Hannibal’s lips. Their noses bump and their foreheads knock, and the kiss just misses Hannibal’s plush lips, landing on the corner. 

Will’s heart races. _Fuck._ He should not be following his gut instincts and doing things like _kissing your choreographer_ impulsively. He feels Hannibal’s arm stiffen around his waist, and the air between them is so thick, so heavy, that Will isn’t even sure he should try to breathe. 

“Will…” Hannibal’s voice is low and husky, almost a growl, and Will can’t help but shiver in his hold as he feels Hannibal’s hand twitch around his waist, then tighten slightly. “What are you doing?” Will feels the breath get knocked out of his lungs as Hannibal’s face inches closer. It’s almost intimidating, but in the most arousing way. Will swallows thickly, his throat dry as he sucks in a shaky breath. 

“Kissing you?” Will hesitates to say after a few silent moments. It’s almost a question— Will, who has always had a vision, a direction, finds himself unsure for the first time in his life right at this moment. 

“ _‘Kissing you’_ ?” Hannibal muses. “I too, would phrase that as more of a question.” Will can’t tell if he’s being mocked and laughed at, or if Hannibal is simply just amused. God, he wants the floor to swallow him whole _now,_ spare him the embarrassment. Before Will can wrap his head too far around it, Hannibal speaks again. “Like ballet,” he begins, “we don’t start off perfect.” Hannibal huffs, a smile on his face. “And like ballet, it needs practice.” The insinuation has not even fully processed in Will’s mind before Hannibal leans in again and presses their lips together. 

It startles Will at first, but he quickly relaxes, knees becoming weak as Hannibal’s arms come fully around his waist and hold him close. Will swears he’d collapse right there if Hannibal weren’t holding him up. 

This time, the kiss is much less hurried. Will’s lips are plump and wet beneath Hannibal’s, and it’s as if Will’s brain short circuits at the fact that not only has he not been rejected, but _Hannibal fucking Lecter_ kissed him first. He can’t help but let out a quiet whimper against his lips at that realisation. 

Shaky arms curl around Hannibal’s waist, sliding under his shirt to grip his bare back. He has to break away for a breath, and he literally only manages a breath before Hannibal kisses him again. Will is already dizzy three kisses in, he has no idea how the fuck he’s going to survive this. He can feel Hannibal’s hands rubbing in soft circles over the small of his back.

Hannibal finds himself loving every second of this. His lips are slightly dryer than Will’s, but Will doesn’t seem to mind as he flicks his tongue out along the seam of Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal’s lips part, and as soon as their tongues touch he feels Will tremble, another soft whine against his mouth. 

Will has to pull away again for another breath. Bravely, he pulls them hip to hip, immediately feeling Hannibal’s bulge against his. It brings him back to his fantasies— Hannibal’s side, his shape, his taste… Will suddenly has an almighty need to answer all of those questions. He pulls back, and drops to his knees with as much control and delicacy as a ballet dancer would have. 

He lets out a nervous breath, nosing at Hannibal’s package as Hannibal bites back a moan and cards his fingers through Will’s hair, tugging at those soft locks. They’re just as soft as Hannibal envisioned— in fact, even softer. God, Will really knows what he wants and how to get it. Hannibal has no qualms about it. 

Will takes his time, breathing in Hannibal’s scent before he tugs down his leggings and his dance belt. Hannibal winces as his cock pops free, slapping against his stomach, and finally, seeing its size, it’s shape fulfils all of Will’s fantasies. 

Hannibal is fully hard already, cock red and wet at the tip already. He’s long, uncut, and Will’s mouth is already watering. He resists getting his lips around him so quickly however, in favour of admiring Hannibal in his full glory. 

“W-Will…” Hannibal grits out as Will’s warm breath brushes over his cock, causing it to twitch. Will wraps one hand around his cock and gives a long, form stroke, the tip of his cock peeking out from the foreskin. “Will, please…” he murmurs. Oh, Will likes the sound of Hannibal’s plea, sounding so eager and desperate. So Will relents. 

Leaning forward, he flicks his tongue out, lapping over the head. Hannibal’s hand tightens in his hair as he holds back a gasp. Will smiles against his cock, flicking his tongue under the foreskin teasingly. “A-ah… darling… nngh…” _Darling…_ Will likes the sound of that too, so he keeps going. 

His tongue swipes over the tip once more, picking up the salty precome on his tongue. He shivers, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a quiet noise against Hannibal’s cock. God, he tastes so much stronger than Will first imagined, yet so much more pleasant too. 

His lips wrap around the head of his cock and he sucks, causing Hannibal’s hips to buck slightly, another moan tumbling from his lips as he bites his knuckle. Will plants his hands on Hannibal’s hips to keep him still, and inches down a little more. 

Will tongues at the crown, flicking at the ridge as he moans. He holds Hannibal’s cock, pressing soft kisses from the tip of his cock right down to his sac before dragging his tongue back up his shaft, following the thick vein. He can tell Hannibal is struggling to hold back moans— Will has to dig his hands into his hips, staring up at Hannibal with creased brows, almost warning him to keep still. 

Hannibal can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re plump and kiss-bitten, a ring of cherry red around his cock. Will sucks with enthusiasm. He’s not experienced by any means— he’s sloppy and messy, saliva dribbling everywhere, but _god,_ it feels heavenly. Hannibal digs his free hand into Will’s hair too, holding him on his cock as Will hums and swallows. The vibrations ricochet through his body, causing his knees to almost buckle as he groans headily.

Hannibal wants to close his eyes and toss his head back and enjoy this, but he doesn’t want to miss even a second of a Will’s cherry wet lips around his cock. Will inches down a little more, until Hannibal’s cock touches the back of his mouth. 

The sudden tingle causes Will to cough a little. He pulls back ever so slightly, takes a breath, and goes back to the task at hand. He moves one hand to wrap around the rest of his cock, massaging and squeezing as he occasionally rolls his balls in his hand, feeling the soft, hairless skin in his palm. 

Will continues to suck, moaning around Hannibal’s cock as Hannibal pulses in his mouth. When he feels Hannibal’s hands tighten in his hair again, another strained moan ripping from his throat, Will spreads his knees and drops lower, allowing himself to take Hannibal in deeper. 

He splutters on another cough as the tip of Hannibal’s cock enters his throat. His throat immediately tightens, tearing a gasp and another surprised moan from Hannibal, one that this time, he struggles to hold back. 

“Fuck… Will…” it’s the first time Will has heard Hannibal sweat, and there’s just something about vulgarities rolling off the tongue of a man normally so poised that is ever so lascivious. Will moans around his cock again, slurping up the saliva that escapes his lips, and rolls his eyes back, taking him deeper. 

He spreads his knees once more and lowers himself again, allowing Hannibal to push all the way into his throat. Will almost chokes as his girth stretches his throat, his muscles convulsing and massaging Hannibal’s cock as he pulls off again for a quick breath, going back down. 

For someone Hannibal once thought was inexperienced, Will sure knows how to use his mouth. He desperately holds back his gag reflex as he buries his nose in the thatch of neatly trimmed hairs, inhaling Hannibal’s natural, musky scent. 

He looks _gorgeous_ on his knees, taking Hannibal all the way. Hannibal’s surprised his composure hasn’t crumbled yet, what with the way Will’s eyes flutter so innocently at the older man. Hannibal frees one of his hands from Will’s hair and gently caresses his face, feeling the fullness in Will’s mouth as he holds him down. He trickles his hand down to Will’s neck, and moans lewdly again when he feels his bulge in Will’s throat. 

Every time Will swallows or his head bobs, Hannibal can feel himself move beneath the skin of Will’s neck. And that, coupled with Will’s pretty lips, as well as his blissful warmth, has Hannibal so ridiculously close to orgasm already. 

“Will… Will… _mylimasis…”_ Hannibal breathes heavily, stroking Will’s throat. “I’m close… ahh… gorgeous… so pretty…” Praise begins to tumble from Hannibal’s throat as he loses himself in his arousal, eyes rolled back as he rocks his hips. 

Will whimpers around his cock and pulls off, quickly diving back down, eager to pry more praise from the older man. “Ahh… Will… just like that… so good…” each praise has Will’s cock giving another spurt in his leggings, but he ignores it, in favour of pleasuring Hannibal and wringing more moans, more praise from him. 

His jaw is so tired. His mouth is numb and his throat is sore. But he’ll endure more and more of it, if it means he can hear Hannibal’s ever so salacious moans. A particularly harsh thrust of Hannibal’s hips has Will moaning whorishly around his mouthful, causing Hannibal to hiss and thrust again as Will’s mewls send vibrations coursing under his skin. 

Hannibal’s hips begin to rock more forcefully, the closer he gets to orgasm. Will sucks with vigour, eager to please Hannibal as more praises of _‘beautiful, Will… your lips… so pretty…’_ Will shivers again, another spurt of come staining his leggings. 

“N-nghh… mmh… ahh… oh, Will… _Will—!”_ Hannibal pulls out a little and comes in Will’s mouth, staining his palate with his seed. Will preens around his cock moaning as the salty, bitter come fills his mouth. He comes, staining his leggings, and he’d be embarrassed about coming untouched if he didn’t have other things to focus on. 

Eagerly he swallows, coughing a little as Hannibal’s hands card through his hair, massaging his scalp. Hannibal pulls Will off, who’s panting and red, jaw stiff. Once he’s caught his breath, Hannibal brings his hands to massage his jaw. Will tucks him back into his leggings and Hannibal helps him stand. 

Will’s knees ache from kneeling on the hardwood floor, so much so that he feels like he’s about to collapse right then and there. As soon as Hannibal has pulled him against his body, his lips are immediately pressed to Will’s. Will melts under his lips as Hannibal’s arms wind possessively around his waist.

“Come home with me,” murmurs Hannibal against his lips, “let me take care of you, too.” Will should say _no._ They’ve already crossed so many boundaries that Will hasn’t even begun to consider yet, but he can’t say no to an offer like that. He’s so drawn to Hannibal. 

“Shouldn’t you take me out to dinner, first?” Will croaks, voice strained as he smiles against Hannibal’s lips. 

“Take you out to dinner?” Hannibal cocks a brow. “Forgive me for asking, but why do you consider it necessary for me to take you out to dinner… when I can cook for you?” His lip quirks into a smile, and _oh,_ this man just gets more and more perfect. Will huffs, letting out a tired chuckle. 

“You dance… you’re handsome… and now you’re telling me you cook, too?” Will teases. “What’s next, you gonna tell me you’re a hopeless romantic, too?” Hannibal can’t help but smile smugly at Will’s witty attitude. 

“There’s only one way for you to find out, isn’t there?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/CarnivalMirai) where I mainly shitpost but sometimes post quality content


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